In What Way Is This Vision Unusual?

No departure, no arrival, no whole,
No eternal return, no end, what then?

This lodge of words in woods singing with birds,
Bits of sky and breezes in the thick weeds,

Later, maybe, minor conversations,
The functions of life, chores and maintenance.

The ordinary grows unusual
If ignored, forgotten, rediscovered,

And oh how we love the unusual.
So forget this castle of desert sky,

Leaning its typical, heavy blue dome
Over half-treed terraces and mesas,

The bustle of towns on the desert floor
Like the bustle of a castle courtyard—

Noises, chattering, dust, funk, and commerce.
Forget the contrailing jets overhead.

Climb into the mountains at the edges,
But stop somewhere below the finest spots

And let the more ambitious tourists climb
All the way to the turrets to look out.

Here’s the wayside hermit building that lodge
Of words amid the crickets, weeds, and birds.

Wait until this becomes so familiar
That the castle will seem fantastical

In the commotion below, or until
You wake to find the ordinary gone,

Hard to remember, deserted, even the sky
Kingdom blue ruin. This will seem beautiful then.